


habits

by thealmostviki



Category: Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Aquaphobia, Dogs, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moving In Together, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, but like a super minor one, i swear it's not that sad, that's better, wow the tags make this sound really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealmostviki/pseuds/thealmostviki
Summary: Logan’s brain doesn’t process emotion like other people’s do, so he can’t put a name to the feeling he gets when Patton is around. That doesn’t mean he wants it to stop.Or: Logan learns, in mornings and nights, how to be in love.





	habits

**Author's Note:**

> good lord it's finally done.  
> If I'm posting it that means that I survived finals and dragged myself off the ground to draft, edit, and post this. This fic is a gift for [@naomilotus64](https://naomilotus64.tumblr.com/) for the [Fander Secret Santa Gift Exchange](https://fander-secret-santa.tumblr.com/)! They requested Logicality and "some fluff" (which you all know is so hard for me lmao) and then I just stole some of their favorite tropes for the story. Nao, I hope you like it and I hope everyone else does too!  
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine!

Patton is missing one of his back molars. There's a ridge of exposed gum where white bone should be.

    "I cracked it when I was younger," Patton told him once, shrugging off the incident like it was everyday, ordinary. "I bit a rock by accident. It splintered and we didn't have the money to do anything about it, so they just took it out."

    "I think it looks beautiful," Logan said, a facsimile of sympathy, and Patton had laughed.

    "I know it doesn't. That's okay though. It's just a tooth."

    Sometimes, when Patton is rambling or smiling especially wide, Logan can see the little gap in the wall of his teeth and looks at it for  longer than is necessary. He wasn't making it up though; he really does think it's beautiful. Patton is beautiful, every part of him, even the gaps in his teeth, even his lopsided lips and his inedible baking and the way that he gets defensive when Logan starts asking him too may questions about the classes he's failing and his shoulders get tight with stress but god, even then he is still so beautiful. Logan wonders if this is what love is.

 --

He enters his apartment with his coat clutched around him. After three years he's still not used to how cold it gets up north. Where he's from they get flurries, not blizzards. Logan hadn't known the meaning of the word 'cold' until he moved to Philadelphia. Patton sits on the couch, wrapped in one of the blankets off Logan's bed, drinking hot chocolate out of an oversized mug. He looks up when Logan enters and pulls his blankets tighter around himself in sympathy.

    "How was class?" he asks, his voice lacking some of its usual luster.

    Logan shrugs off his jacket and drapes it across a chair in the kitchen. Later, he'll panic and run to hang it in its proper place, but Patton says his cleanliness is bordering on obsessive, so he pretends, at least in front of him, that he's getting accustomed to disorder. Baby steps, as Patton says each time he leaves his shoes in the hallway or his keys in his coat pocket, and Logan echoes him, Baby steps. Normal people leave their coats on the backs of chairs without panicking. Normal people can function without such menial routines.

    Normal people also have feelings, too, but that's a separate problem.

    "It was alright. The professor doesn't know what he's talking about, but I'm passing the class."

    Patton hums and turns back to the TV. Logan doesn't recognize the show that's on; Patton only keeps up with three or four shows and this isn't any of them. Yet, he knows better than to ask if everything is alright. The only answer that question ever garners is "Of course, Logan. Why wouldn't I be?" and a smile so wide and fake it makes Logan's chest ache. Patton's been doing that a lot lately-internalizing, suppressing. Logan can see it in the shake of his fingers and the twitch under his eyes. At some point, it'll all come crashing down, and Logan will call them both out of work and they'll sit at home and curl up in bed and work through it slowly, the only way they know how. But that's not happening right this second, nor does Logan want it to, so he doesn't ask. It's easy to ignore emotions when they aren't staring you in the face.

    "I'm going to go take a shower," Logan says, and leaves before the urge to take action becomes too overwhelming.

\-- 

Logan hasn't taken a bath since he was seven years old. It's not a "thing". It can't be a "thing" because he's not afraid of water, no matter what his therapist tells him. He is, in fact, able to separate the terror of being lost at sea for hours-the coastline  a sliver in the distance, nothing but his small boat and the clothes on his back between him and 326 million cubic miles of water-with his ordinary porcelain bathtub. He can deny himself swimming in pools because the chlorine burns his nostrils, and he doesn't go fishing with his brothers because mosquitos swarm around him all the time, and aquariums never piqued his interest anyway (he much prefers terrestrial animals), and he isn't afraid of baths, not at all. He just prefers showers. That's all there is to it.

 --

Patton's sweaters take up half of Logan's closet, not that he minds. The bright colors and patterns liven up Logan's wardrobe, and it'd be impractical for Patton to have to carry things back and forth to his own apartment. He's at Logan's place so much he's become a permanent fixture, personal articles littered everywhere-his shoes dumped in the living room, his toothbrush by the sink, half of his textbooks stacked up next to Logan's on the small desk in the corner. Sometimes Logan forgets Patton has his own place at all; surely it's nowhere near as cluttered as Logan's space is here.

    He pulls on one of Patton's sweaters now, a dark green one with a snowflake in the center, partly because Patton likes it when he wears his clothes but mostly because he's cold. He yanks the other blanket off his bed and sits down next to Patton, and Patton leans into his side and hums.

    "I saw a good dog today," Patton says, sliding their fingers together. "An all-white malamute. I think I fell a little bit in love."

    "Did you now?" He sounds disinterested, even though he doesn't mean to. Before he can open his mouth to apologize Patton is already plowing on.

    "Her owner let me pet her. Her name's Bay. Like the ocean? Isn't that cool?"

    "Yes, it is," Logan agrees, because he's not afraid of water and he definitely isn't afraid of so much as the idea of the ocean coming up in conversation. Besides, this is the most animated Patton has looked in days. Logan picks at his fingers as Patton rambles on about malamutes and double-coated dogs and  holds back a wince as he catches a sharp edge. His nails are rough-bitten, and in winter months they're down to the quicks, raw and red and bleeding . It's yet another habit he's trying to break along with the cleanliness and the walk he takes home from class every day. Instead of feelings, he has habits which are safer, he supposes, but no better under control than Patton's violent and fickle emotions. Part of living, his textbooks tell him, is figuring yourself out. Logan's never liked that. He likes to think he's always been the same, always will be the same, and will never need anything more than what he has.

    Then again, there's _Patton_.

    "I should get a dog," Patton says wistfully, finishing his long rant. "How cute would that be? Like a little buddy running around."

    "Your apartment is too small for a dog," Logan reminds him. "And it'll eat you out of house and home."

    "I can dream, Logan! Someday, I'll have ten dogs, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

    "I sincerely hope you're joking," Logan says, and when his eyes met Patton's he finds them bright with mirth.

    "Only a little bit," he admits. "Maybe only five."

    They fall asleep on the couch like that, draped in blankets and each other, and the night is still freezing cold but they can ignore it for now. In the morning, Logan wakes up to Patton already gone, maybe to class or to his own apartment, and Logan's morning coffee is sitting on the table, still warm.

    _Good luck on your biology test!_ reads the note left next to the cup, and Logan sips his drink and tells himself the warmth filling him is from the coffee alone.

 --

"Tell me a secret," Patton said once, quiet in the silence of Logan's apartment. They were both tipsy, Patton's cheeks red with alcohol and excitement.

    "What kind of secret?" Logan asked. He sat cross-legged on the floor, Patton's head in his lap, a half-full glass of rum in his hand. Logan never liked drinking much, but he liked Patton drinking alone even less, so here they were. His homework laid unfinished on his desk, and Patton's shoes were discarded on the living room floor, visible through the cracked bedroom door. Logan didn't let himself think about it too much. He didn't want to ruin the moment.

    "I dunno," Patton said, tracing his fingers along Logan's arms. "Something I don't know."

    "Yes, that is what a secret is," Logan agreed, and yelped when Patton pinched him.

    "You could at least play along," he whined, crossing his arms and pouting.

    Logan sighed and set down his glass. "Why don't you start?"

    "C'mon, Logan, you know I don't keep any secrets from you."

    And it was true; he didn't. Logan knew about all of it, from his father's illness to his sister's failed marriage to his knee injury that had ruined his tennis career before it could even start. Logan knew that the sounds of yelling still made Patton's head spin and that he hated hospitals and needles and that he used to fantasize about traveling the world back when his family still had enough money for him to not have bills branded into the back of his mind. He's heard the stories of the dog Patton rescued when he was younger and the tadpoles in the puddles outside his house and the frozen butterfly his younger brother told their sister was a fancy hairclip and when she found out the truth she cried and cried and both boys were grounded for a week even though Patton hadn't done anything wrong.

    But Logan wasn't the best at sharing. He was never good at figuring out what parts were worth telling when everything seemed so dull. Mundane.

    "Lo," Patton said, voice even whinier now than it had been before. "Come on. Tell me something, _anything_. Please?" His mouth quirked into that soft smile he gave when he wanted something, all round-cheeked and wide-eyed. It was cute, sure. Everything about Patton was cute. But Logan wasn't in the mood to play games. 

    "You speak as if you don't know me at all," Logan mumbled. Surprisingly, it stung a little. They'd been friends for months now and yet he was still a stranger.

    "I respect your privacy," Patton said, playing with Logan's fingers idly. "But I wonder sometimes about that big head of yours, y'know? I feel like it's amazing in there and you always keep it so closed up."

    "You'll be sorely disappointed." Logan pulled his hands away and scooted back and Patton took his cue to sit up. He turned and automatically reached out for Logan's hand but then stopped and pulled back. Logan wished he'd gone through with it. The space between them was far too wide.

    "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm not trying to say that you're distant. I just... I want to know more about you. Sometimes I think I don't know you as well as I want to."

    It might've been the cold, or the alcohol, or the lack of sleep he'd suffered over the past few days, but the words spilled out before he could think them over.

    "How well do you want to know me?"

    Patton blinked, eyes sharp now despite the alcohol, and his face became blank. "Really well."

    It was definitely the cold and the liquor and the lack of sleep when Logan kissed him, but Patton kissed back, so he supposed it was alright. Patton's lips were small and cracked and their mouths didn't line up exactly right and Logan had never kissed anyone before so he didn't know what possessed him to try it right then, but when he pulled back Patton stared at him, wide-eyed and gasping, and it felt like the right decision.

    "Is that sufficient?" Logan asked, breathless.

    Patton smiled wide. Logan could see his gap.

 --

In the spirit of taking baby steps, Logan takes a different walk back from work that day and passes a pet store. He's never been fond of animals; they're messy and loud difficult to navigate around. His neighbor had a dog growing up and it would bark at him every day when he walked home from school. That also might've soured his opinion towards the beasts. Patton, though, never grows tired of them.

    He tells himself it's to escape from the cold when he ducks into the shop.

    The smell of animals immediately overwhelms him. It's not an unpleasant smell if you're used to it, but Logan _isn't_ used to it, so it _is_ unpleasant. There are people with their dogs on leashes milling through the aisles, and young children standing far too close to the cages with puppies and kittens. On the far left is a wall of small animals, where guinea pigs root through bedding and a lizard sunbathes languidly on its rock. A blue-eyed girl no older then himself approaches him with a bright smile.

    "Hello! Welcome to Pet Zone! Is there anything in particular you're looking for?"

    Instead of saying, "no, sorry, I'm just looking", his lips contort and the words that come out are "Do you know of any dogs that would be good for apartment living?"

    "Hmm, well, we have a few breeds that are less active and require less space than a more energetic one would. If you'll follow me over here..."

    Logan only half-listens as the store hand talks about different breeds and their exercise needs. She points out a few animals, some young, some old, before turning to Logan and asking if there's anything more specific she can use to narrow it down.

    "Oh," Logan says when it's clear she's waiting for an answer. "Sorry, but I'm not sure. My boyfriend is the animal lover. I tend to think they're a lot to handle."

    "I see," she says, studying him a bit more critically. "You must really love your boyfriend, then. A dog is no small commitment."

    "We haven't even talked about it properly yet," Logan says, amazed at the words coming out of his own mouth. "I just thought I'd stop by and grow accustomed to the idea."

    "Well," the girl says, eyes darting around with new purpose. "Do you think he'd like something like him?" She walks a few feet over and gestures inside, and Logan peers through the bars to see a small black and white dog chewing on a rope toy. Its fur is fluffed and sticking out at the sides, and his eyes are wide and dark.

    "This is Road," she says, gazing affectionately at the small dog. "He's a Shih Tzu. They're pretty quiet dogs. Not very loud. And he won't grow much bigger than this."

    Experimentally, Logan snaps a picture of the dog and sends it to Patton. Not a minute later he gets a response that consists of a line of exclamation points and heart emojis.

    "He's cute," Logan admits, examining the dog closer. Road has abandoned the toy by now and has come to the front of his cage to sniff at Logan's face and fingers. His hair sticks out around his mouth like a little beard and mustache, and his large brown eyes stare right into his soul. It reminds him of Patton in a way; adorable yet somehow all-knowing.

    "That's what they're bred for. What'd your boyfriend say?"

    "He likes him." It isn't even hard to imagine bringing the dog home. Patton would be overjoyed. He might even cry. He'd drag them out to get one of those little dog sweaters and a leash and he'd take half a million pictures and post them everywhere, and Logan would have to stop him from spoiling the dog completely or it would never listen to them, and they'd both spend weeks tripping on dog toys and water bowls. He can see it now so clearly, how wonderful it would be.

    But that's crazy because they don't even _live_ together. If Logan buys a dog now, it'll be his dog. And Logan _doesn't_ want a dog.

    "I should go, he's expecting me for dinner soon," Logan lies, an itchiness under his skin telling him to get out of the store.

    "Of course," the girl says graciously, oblivious to his distress. "Thanks for coming. I hope you find a dog you both like!"

    And then he's out in the cold again, and the sun is setting, and Logan has a twitchiness in him that wasn't there before. He doesn't want a dog. But he _does_ want a dog with Patton.

    It doesn't make any sense.

 --

Maybe a better secret for Logan to tell would've been the errors in his brain, how he doesn't process emotion the way he now realizes other people do. For a while, he thought everyone was this exhausted all the time, that emoting was performative and valued more because of it. When he learned that no, people felt emotions all the time and had to learn to control them, it was like a filter had been removed from his eyes and the world was now louder, wilder, more unknowable. He'd kissed Patton because it had seemed like the thing to do at the time but he didn't have to be a genius to understand that the emotions he'd tied to it were not the same as the ones Patton held, the bright burning fires that blew all over the apartment, dripping down the walls and out of the faucets, staining every second of their lives. It was suffocating. Sometimes it felt worse than being lost at sea, worse than drowning.

    "I don't know if I'm in love with you," he confessed one day, and he had an itch in his throat like he should be crying but his eyes stayed cruel and dry. He'd never seen Patton's face shut down so fast.

    "Oh," was all he said, and just like that, all the explosive and ceaseless emotions were gone, leaving a cold emptiness in their place. The sudden absence ripped the air from Logan's lungs.

    "I mean, I do love you," Logan said, unsure. "At least, I want to. However, I don't fully know what that means yet. I'm not...I've never done this before."

    "Never loved someone?"

    Logan swallowed and shook his head. "Never felt...any of this."

    Patton didn't understand, he knew Patton didn't understand, but he nodded anyway and pressed a soft kiss to Logan's cheek.

    "We can figure it out, alright?" Patton said, voice soft like he was talking to something small and startled and true enough Logan was both of those things but he didn't like to be reminded. Logan couldn't shake the feeling that he didn't deserve any of this, that he didn't deserve Patton or his kindness or the chance to care about something when he'd never cared about anything except work and order in his entire life.

    "And I love you, okay?" Patton continued. "So I'll do whatever it takes."

    'Whatever it takes' sounded big. Maybe he was right all those years ago, about feelings being burdens you carried around.

   --

That night Patton gets in after Logan, which happens sometimes when Patton puts off too much work and has to get it all done in one night. Personally, Logan doesn't think college suits Patton, but they've had that discussion too many times for Logan to even consider bringing it up again. He dumps his bag by the front door and collapses on the couch without even taking off his coat, and Logan doesn't blame him. Having the door open for a split second makes Logan wish he's wearing a jacket.

    "Rough day?" he asks as Patton shakes the snow out of his hair.

    Patton grins as he unwinds the scarf from his neck. "Oh, nothing terrible. I kind of want to throw my European History notes into a sewer, but the professor is nice so I'm not upset. He spent half of class today complaining about the naming conventions of French royalty."

    "That sounds rather dull."

    "You'd think so! But the way he says stuff is fascinating! You should take his class next semester, Logan, you two would get along."

    "I doubt that," Logan says. He has little interest in history, and from the descriptions of the professor Patton supplies he suspects they'd spend the entire semester butting heads.

    Patton shrugs and pulls off his gloves. "Suit yourself. How was your day?"

    "Same as usual. My lab partner is an imbecile, but I'm growing accustomed to picking up his slack."

    Patton _tsks._ "Logan, you don't have to be so hard on him. Not everyone is a genius like you."

    "If he can't handle the work then he shouldn't be taking an advanced biochemistry lab." Logan's tone is absolute. "He's dragging down the entire group and we're supposed to have this report typed up by Friday."

    He's diverting; he does it without thinking most days. He doesn't  care about his lab group. They'll finish the assignment on time like they always do come hell or high water, even if Logan has to  chain his groupmates down to make them do their share. Complaining about lab is normal, though, an adequate distraction from the itch that's still burrowing under his skin.

    Patton can tell that something is off because he looks at Logan for longer than usual before shrugging it off. "You'll work it out. You always do."

    "Mm."

    They settle into comfortable silence, with Logan sitting at the table highlighting pages in his textbooks and Patton answering texts from his ever-pinging phone. Logan can't hear him breathe, has no indication he's there if he doesn't look up and see him, but he can feel Patton's energy like the sun radiating off his sofa, and he stops writing for a moment to bask in it.

    "Hey, Logan," Patton says, breaking into his thoughts. "Your apartment is, like, super cold."

    "Sorry." Even though fire is licking the edges of his collar, Logan raises the thermostat.

 --

The original reason Patton stays over so much, aside from the fact that he likes being around Logan in general, is because of Logan's nightmares, not that he likes to call them that. Calling them nightmares would mean admitting to a fear he doesn't have. Yet he finds that there isn't another word for what you're suffering from when you're sitting in your crumpled up sheets at three in the morning trying to get your breathing under control panic before drags you under again. He's helpless, and he's not used to feeling helpless, was even less used to it the first time when the feeling of a vice around his heart and water dripping down his back was both foreign and all too familiar. At a loss for what to do, he unplugged his phone and hit the name at the top of his Recents.

    _"Hello?"_ Patton's sleepy voice echoed down the phone line but it didn't soothe Logan's panicked nerves.

    "Patton? It's Logan. I woke you up. I'm sorry." His words were stilted even to his own ears, the pronunciation off and his breaths in all the wrong places. Patton must've noticed because Logan heard him sitting up, some of the fuzz clearing from his voice.

    _"Logan, is everything alright?"_

    Regret flushes through him like a tidal wave and he almost drops the phone. "I shouldn't have called you, it's fine. I'll hang up."

    _"Don't hang up. Are you hurt? Are you sick? Should I call 911?"_

    "No, I don't- _no._ " The words won't come out, they stick in his throat like molasses, choking him with even more vigor than the mild panic attack he's working through.

    Patton is silent for a while, then his tone shifts to be softer, more collected. " _Did you have a nightmare?"_

    And it sounded so childish like that, that he called his boyfriend at three in the morning because he had a bad dream. He's an adult. He should've been able to deal with things like that by himself. It wasn't the first time it happened but it was the first time he couldn't calm down by himself and he didn't know why these dreams kept happening, why he kept seeing himself surrounded by blue on all sides, ropes tangling around his wrists dragging him further from the surface until he's freezing cold and he can't see the sun and the pressure is threatening to crush his ribcage and...

    His breathing must've picked up because Patton made a sound of concern and Logan heard him rustle his blankets and stand.

    _"Don't move, alright? I'll be there in fifteen minutes."_

    "Patton, I-"

    _"Don't tell me not to come. I won't listen. Fifteen minutes, okay?"_

    Logan swallowed harshly and tried not to feel like a failure. "Okay," he says, and they both ignored how his voice cracked.

    Patton stayed on the line with him, talking about the weather and the new book he was reading and how his neighbor was baking when he'd gone over to return something he'd borrowed and she gave him a box of cookies "for luck". Logan focused on his voice, drinking in the words one at a time. If all he knew was Patton's words he could stay anchored to the present, even when he could feel the ghost of ocean spray lapping at his heels. Some of the chaos cleared from his head, and his breathing settled to the point that he didn't think he was going to pass out anymore. He lay on his bed, listened to Patton talk, and waited. Only then did he notice the thick sheets of rain coming down outside.

    Patton walked into his room wordlessly and sat down on Logan's bed. Logan has never craved touch like Patton does, doesn't seek it out, so Patton waited for Logan's nod of permission before wrapping his arms around him. The shock of his cold fingers was grounding and some latent panic dissipated from his mind.

    "You're okay," Patton whispered.  "I'm here. You're safe."

    "I know," Logan says because he did know, factually, that he was in a bed in a city instead of a life raft on the ocean, but it's not like his body knew that. In the morning they'd decide it might've been the rain that triggered it, even though Logan doubts the logic of the assumption, and Patton will start making an effort to stay over when there's so much as a drizzle in the forecast. Logan pretends every time that he isn't relieved. He's never relied on someone like this, never felt he needed to, but every stormy night Patton is there, and Logan doesn't dream of the ocean swallowing him whole, so it's possible there's something to their illogical assumptions after all.

 --

    They end up ordering in. Patton is too tired to cook and Logan doesn't know how to. Logan can only bake because baking is chemistry, a science Logan can wrap his head around. You put things into a bowl in a certain order and you have a cake at the end. Cooking isn't that simple. Try as he might, Logan can't wrap his head around the concept of cook times or poaching vs steaming and how presentation affects taste or how flavors that don't go together in one dish complement each other in another. It's too much information. There are too many qualifications. Once, Patton tried to teach him and he almost worked himself up into a panic before Patton turned the stove off and ordered pizza.

    "Thank you for trying," he'd said as if the effort was all that mattered. Logan had bitten his fingernails down to the skin that night, and he'd had to go to the bathroom to wrap his fingertips in bandages. It was a step back, but he could, and did, recover. Baby steps. Old habits.

    He thinks about that now, and about how Patton always makes sure to cook his favorite when he knows Logan's had a rough night, and how he does the same, making the cupcakes Patton likes on days when school threatens to overwhelm them both. He thinks about Patton's bad days when the smile finally falls off his face and Logan has to smile for him and he does so without prompting. He thinks about how Patton's knee still hurts sometimes and even though it's phantom pain Logan still gives him an ice pack because there's no physical treatment for emotional wounds, and how despite all his derision Patton does make sure to dump his bag by the door and his coat in the kitchen every day, because he accepts Logan's baby steps for what they are: progress. He thinks of the Shih Tzu in the store with large brown eyes that remind him so much of Patton, and how cute it was, and how cute _Patton_ is, and how he needs more cute things in his life.

    He thinks about how crazy it is that they've been together for over two years and go to the same university and work in the same city but they don't live together, especially when it's inconceivable that he would ever be somewhere Patton _isn't._

    "When does your lease run out?" Logan asks. Patton hums beside him, chewing his takeout thoughtfully.

    "Next month. I better go renew it if I don't want to be homeless."

    "Don't renew it. Move in with me."

    Patton chokes on his noodles. When he stops coughing and his eyes stop watering he looks at Logan like he's never seen him before in his life. "What?"

    "You're always here anyway," Logan says, and he's only been thinking about this for one afternoon but the words flow out as as if he's reading them off a paper. "My apartment is closer to school, and it's larger and warmer than yours is. If we lived together we could get a dog. I don't have the energy to take care of one but you do, and with our combined incomes and the excess money from splitting rent, we could afford it. You cook most of my meals anyway, and more than half your clothes are in my closet and-"

    Logan stops when he hears a small sob from beside him. He glances up and is alarmed to see Patton is crying, fat tears sliding down his red face.

    "Patton?" he asks, wiping the tears away with his thumb. "What's wrong?"

    Patton shakes his head and continues to cry. Logan wraps his arms around him and lets him cry on his shoulder, trying to figure out what he could've said that would cause this reaction. If Patton didn't want to move in with him, that was fine. He'd thought it seemed like a good plan, something that was mutually beneficial. Apparently, Patton didn't think the same.

    "If you don't want to live with me, you don't have to," Logan said quietly. "I wasn't trying to pressure you into anything."

    Patton rips himself from Logan's arms and Logan's heart sinks. He's done it now. Is there any way to interpret Patton's fierce expression as anything other than one of disappointment?

    "That's not it!" he says, his voice warbling with emotion. "That's the opposite of the problem. I-Logan, please, tell me, why do you want me to move in with you?"

    "Because...of all the reasons I stated moments ago?" Logan feels lost in a way he rarely does when he talks to Patton as if he's missing the mark and is less than human because of it. "It's...mutually beneficial. It's what people who are dating do."

    "Is that all?" Patton presses. "Because of _economics_?"

    Logan swallows and fixes his collar. He's never loved anyone before, doesn't understand it. Patton knows this. He knows that Logan's empathy is learned and his attentiveness is practiced and that his enamor with Patton's physicality is as much objective as it is affectionate. But in this moment, there's something new. It's the same fleeting feeling from the first time they kissed or the first time Patton spent the night. It's the same stirring he in his chest when he read Patton's note this morning, or walked into a pet store and started thinking about them and their future, the same rush of endorphins when he sees the gap in Patton's teeth that reminds him that they are so young and incomplete and not very good at whatever it is they're trying to do now but that they have each other and it's working out. He feels like Patton's emotions are painting the inside of him, closing around his heart and pressing into his lungs until color bleeds from his pores.

    But he doesn't feel like he's drowning.

    "I want you to move in because I love you," he says. "A lot. Which means that I want you to live in the same apartment as me and learn to cook meals for you and-" he takes a breath before he says the next part. "-own a dog with you. I want this to be our home, not just mine."

    And he expects it when Patton kisses him, with passion flying everywhere only this time he doesn't feel like he's burning or suffocating or being crushed by the expectation of something he can't give. He feels good. He feels like they'll make it out of this one.

    God, he _feels._ He always has, with Patton.

    Patton pulls back when he runs out of air and he's panting and wild-eyed but smiling so big that Logan can see the gap in his teeth, the void where there should be white. It's beautiful. Patton is so, so beautiful.

    He decides that this is what love is.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up anytime at my tumblr! [@astralbone](https://astralbone.tumblr.com/)


End file.
